


Countdown

by innie



Category: New Girl
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 14:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/993138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innie/pseuds/innie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cece, after 3x03 ("Double Date")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Countdown

Her fervent desire to junk-punch Nick had propelled her from Schmidt's car so fast that she'd left her clutch behind, so she didn't have her little packet of tissues. Cece wiped her eyes and nose with the side of her hand, trying to stem their flow. Her phone was on the floor of Jess's living room, probably cracked, given the vehemence with which he'd tossed it. Jess would bring it around, she thought, then reconsidered - Jess hadn't come barreling out of the restaurant yet, ready to hug and comfort the way she always did. Seriously, what the fuck.

She waited, and her hand grew wetter and grosser, but not one of them came out to find her. Fuck it. She was obviously meant to be alone. Peeling herself from the shadowed wall, she strode over to the valets. One of them said he'd call a taxi for her, and another pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket. They all waited silently with her until the cab pulled up, like sentries in white polo shirts, and she let herself cry once she was speeding home.

Oh, God, maybe she wasn't alone. "Pull over," she said; "I'll be right back." Schmidt had _known_ she hadn't been on birth control - she'd been totally upfront with him about her timeline, and he'd promised her he was excited and ready to become a father. He might very well have knocked her up.

She always kept a couple of bills in her cleavage - it was just good sense in the city, and anyway Schmidt always beamed like a boy playing pirate at discovering "treasure" when he found them and peeled them off her skin - so she didn't stop to look at prices when she ransacked the home-pregnancy-test aisle. God, please let her not be carrying a baby, a sign that she'd been idiot enough to trust a man who had just been stringing her along.

The ride home was mercifully quick, and she ran into the bathroom, ejecting Nadia, who'd been doing her eyelid exercises and blasting Olivia Newton-John. She locked the door and pulled the kit out of the sweat-sticky plastic bag. She didn't have to go, but she managed to pee enough to get a stream on the damn stick. She was supposed to wait ten minutes for the result, and she watched each minute crawl by on the little digital clock that had come with her electric toothbrush. The ninth minute ticked over and she counted backwards, trying to breathe, trying not to shake, trying to keep herself together. She wanted her best friend. She wanted not to be pregnant. She didn't want to be regretting this much of her life. And three . . . two . . . one.


End file.
